


The three sided king

by lucidpantone



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, M/M, Multi, The Wars of the Roses, The last Burgundian state, This is a deeply complicated love story, this fic is a journey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28063212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucidpantone/pseuds/lucidpantone
Summary: This fic will be chronicling the rise and fall of the Burgundian state during The War Of The Roses.Robbe "The prince of swords" is the heir to Burgundy.Sander is the Brother of Edward the IV and has been sent to Burgundy to marry Mary of Burgundy.The Burgundians are renowned for producing one of the most valuable commodities for war. The infamous Burgundian iron that can only be tempered in the Burgundian Realm. Edward the IV is sure that with an alliance with Burgundy the Yorkiest can defeat the Lancastrians with Burgundian forged weaponry. Begrudgingly Sander goes to Burgundy to appease Edward and as fate would have it he falls in love with one of the heirs of Burgundy it's just not Mary.....
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Looney Tunes!! 
> 
> Nice to be back to my old stomping ground. So we're about to go on another adventure together into the middle ages to The War Of The Roses. This time period is surrounded by blood shed, deceit, treason, violence, passion, sacrifice and love. This won't be an easy ride it never is in my stories but remember it's all about the journey. Usually I wouldn't supply a prologue but its necessary as I am attempting to stay as historically accurate to the period as possible. This story will take place between the years of 1470 - 1477. Historically the story remains the same the Burgundian empire will fall in 1477 upon the death of their "king".

# The Burgundian State

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things to note:
> 
> Languages
> 
> In the middle ages the Burgundian court spoke middle French amongst courtiers. However some of them spoke middle Dutch in the comfort of their homes. Both languages are intelligible to modern speakers but not without some effort as the intonation of both languages in this time period varies from their modern day adaptation. The Yorkist court spoke Middle English and same rules apply. 
> 
> In this fic unless I state differently the Burgundians are speaking middle French. If the Yorkist are speaking amongst one another they are speaking middle English. If a scene is spoken in Middle Dutch it will be highlighted within the scene.


	2. Aries 1477

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic will be written canonically year after year between 1470 - 1477. There will be only one big flash forward which is the opening to the story. 
> 
> TW: Violence, Violence, Violence 
> 
> Please proceed with caution!
> 
> It's about to get heavy.
> 
> **Shout out to my Dutchies and Belgians for the tireless hours of translations and explanations and resourced materials they have produce to get us to love and understand their culture. This one is for you!**

They look in awe.

Hundreds of cataracts in the direction of the heavens.

Unaware that it’ll be another hundred years until they know what to call it, and many hundred more until the children of their children will know how to explain it but even now its beauty is undeniable.

It’s the equinox.

The moment in the earth’s calendar when the constellation of Aries moves into view and the spirit of the ram courses through the surface of the earth. Illuminating its path as sun up follows it sprinting through the foreshadowing of a tulip nation.

Here is where the field lies that one day will be painted in pigments of primary colors that will unite their houses instead of divide them but for now all that is currently coating the air is the sound of a trotting ram coming to a halt as it recognizes its enraged brethren the bull standing at salute at the end of the rainbow. The end of this starry night marking this moment as a prelude, an introduction, the opening act to their opera, the final moments before the beginning of a fugue as the lion comes into view.

The curtain of sun up overtakes the stars illuminating the big cat. His hickory mane set ablaze by the dancing rays; accentuated by his iron armor. His hard line jaw recognizable from over yonder. His features herculean as he stands proud atop the equine species with his kinsmen on each side.

A lone rider comes into the bull’s focus. Him and his herd stand in stillness preparing for the stampede.

“My lord, permission to speak?” the knight tentatively announces.

The bull signals the knight via a simple nod that wisps his lunar hair in a front forward motion.

“The Burgundians have refused my lord’s offer for a peaceful surrender.”

The herd quiets down focusing their attention away from the heavens towards the bull. Finally he speaks in a tone devoid of all emotion.

“Did the king say why?”

The knight nods, an indicator that the king had sent him away with a message to deliver. He walks slowly towards the bull as he whispers out the lion’s message into his ear.

The bull tugs on his horse's strap as he looks out across the rainbow path towards the lion.

_

The lion looks out onto his adversaries as he surveils the bull’s reaction to the denial of his white flag.

Today, there will be no laying down of swords. 

The vestiges of remembrance strike an arrow at the lion’s heart but the effects are minimal because a lion is driven by his apex instinct; deep down he is a predator, killer, leader and mercy is not a natural transgression in this pride land.

“Your majesty” The lion’s hand interrupts.

“Yes”

“May I ask what was the message?”, The lion turns towards his hand and takes a moment to examine the faces of thousands of his bannermen in the distance before speaking.

“The only message that felt suitable for the occasion.”

“Which is?”

The lion holds his breath momentarily as a stream of consciousness overwhelms him and takes ahold of his jaded mind. He snarls out in a remorseless tone.

**“That all is fair in love and war.”**

The lion then gallops via the overgrown grasslands that billow in a tender waltz as a light zephyr caresses the air.

He moves through the world in a trance; rolodexing through his past misgivings, embalming past dealings. His cavalry await him to be served with a modicum of truth. His men will perish in the crucible of this fight their crimson juices will feed the roots of the earth but this moment will mark a noble end for the three lion king.

A soliloquy of thought begins to undulate with haste as the lion speaks vitriol into the early morning light.

“I am not my father.”

He acknowledges loud and stern. 

“He was considered by many of you, a great man, a bold one but I am not him. I stand in front of you as a child of the iron. A proud ijzerman who will not surrender to a foreign usurper who comes to our land to wage war on the command of a french king. I will not betray you unlike those who betrayed my father and the crown.”

The lion pauses and looks down at the black ribbon wrapped around his wrist. A token of good fortune from his queen. He wields the Burgundian iron in the direction of an after life, a gesture hinting towards fate’s holy communion harping on sanctimonious exploits and sacrosanct expeditions.

“I am your king”

He looks across the way and plucks out a poem’s phrase that the bull once spoke to him with so much conviction that his father would pay the price for his cub's loyalty.

The pain of his loss is a sharp reminder to the lion that you must not hold onto lost things and ultimately learn to let go. With the acceptance of loss in his heart he turns to galvanize his herd and weaponizes the bulls words of promise and roars out a victor’s jubilee.

**“YOU AND I......WE ARE THE FUTURE!!!”**

**-**

The pack begins to slither into syncopation in the direction of the bull. The coat of arms of the three lion king flies high at half staff as the bannermen of the Burgundian empire move closer into view till only the faces of men fill up the panorama. 

From afar the bull hears their hymn. What they would say to one another in the veil of night in the safety of one another’s arms. Nestled into the crevice of one another's neck. 

_“YOU AND I, WE ARE THE FUTURE”_

That chant gets louder and louder sinking the bull into the quicksand of his memories back to the nights spent behind chamber doors watching his now forsaken love deep in slumber. Swiping away the beautiful ringlets that would cover his angelic face. Which by then the bull had remembered every imperfection; the way his brow furrowed as the synapsis in his brain ignited another dreamscape. His mouth that when fashioned into a smile would illuminate his rosy cheeks paired with soft dimples and freckles spread across his face in the form of crop circles. A beautiful pair of chestnut orbs that had the power to enact a sense of completion, meaning, the ability to actualize all the safety measures that quelled the bull’s nihilistic tendencies, and yet, here they were. A pair of star-crossed lovers; journeymen in the dreamscape of a living nightmare in pursuit of one thing and one thing only. To crush the other into smithereens.

**“Hold The Line, Hold The Line"**

His kinsman snars out as he hot trots down the line of men standing at salute. 

The bull is in pause processing nothing around him as he whirlpools into the vestiges of past dealings; embalming his memories in a stew of philmadrihyid encasing his wit in a parallel dystopia. One in which the lion and the bull exchange bows and arrows for sunsets and love sonnets.

A thunderclap roars in the distance as an envoy of poseidon roll tides onto the ceiling of this war torn universe. The honeycomb morning glaze dims into the color of gunmetal grey and the once appetizing morning dew becomes harsh, distant and doomed.

Before the young lord has time to melt into his train of thought he is interrupted. 

“Will you lead the call?” 

He is unresponsive.

“Sire?”

“The archers….” 

He kinsmen trots closer to him as they stand atop their majestic four legged friends. He and his kinsmen are face to face now almost shoulder to shoulder. As he leans in and whispers in a barely audible level.

“Sander……..? Sander...”

He looks up. His irises radiating the color of the forest. The evanescence of possessiveness encroaches on his soul. 

“Sander you don’t need to b……..”

The bull interrupts him.

“I want him alive. No one touches a hair on his head unless I say so. Do you understand me?”

His kinsmen nods in agreement. 

“Tell the others. We will deliver him in one piece to die a traitor's death.”

The bulls tonal change reeks of conformity but the universe aligns itself in clear opposition with the bulls thinking; as tridents of lightning swirl out of the heavens in the form of brinicles. 

Brinicles begin to cover the lovers' divide as a downpour descends upon both armed forces. The bull pulls on his horse’s strap. The all white creature perks up and gallops in the direction of the band of archers. As he gets closer the bull he recognizes a familiar face amongst the torrential rain. It's his first lieutenant, his friend, and loyal confidant. Always instantly recognizable with his jet black hair that slightly pokes out from the edges of his helmet and his pronounced nose at the centerfold of his finely sculpted face.

“Sire” he declares once the bull is at close enough range. 

“I told you not to call me that”

A slight tilt of the head indicates that he acknowledges his lord's wishes.

“The men have received your instruction. No one is to harm the king.”

“We want him alive” The bull iterates.

His lieutenant turns away from the battlefield ahead of him and lays his gaze on his lord.

“We?!?!.... Or you? Sander.”

Sander’s leafy green eyes meet his lieutenant dismantling gaze. 

“I could make it quick. He wouldn’t feel a thing if you’d jus….” 

Sander cuts his kinsman off with veraciousity. 

“Do you disobey me?”

“No, my lord” His kinsmen takes a slight bow to express his apologies for his mis-step.

Sander rolls his eyes and turns to look out at the fast approaching opposition. He sighs and reaches for a bow in his quiver and hangs his head low and musters out a begrudging command as he gallops down the line of infantry.

“I’ll keep it brief”

He looks out onto his men.

"There is no us" 

“They are only those who betray the crown and those who respect it. There is no more room for mercy, there never has been and there never will be.”

Sander settles back into the left flank of his company. 

The men peer towards his direction waiting for his signal.

Sanders takes a deep inhale, he broadens his shoulders and chest. He places an arrow on the bow and traps it with one finger. He draws up towards the sky. He sees his company all follow his lead from his peripheral vision. He closes his eyes momentarily and he sees him…. 

Forested. 

In the middle of the labyrinth. 

Amongst the foliage, wrapped around the Ivy. 

Lying atop his bedroom tapestries. 

The morning light photosynthesizing his soul.

The prince of swords traveling a dreamscape; vulnerable , open, in the protective hold of his lover. 

Love sonnets wrapped up in dawn’s confessions. The hot breath of royalty claiming the bull. A remembrance of his wounds succumbing to patronage, to love and to his king.

Sander opens his eyes slowly as the water droplets from the heavens mix in with the hot tears streaming down his face and in that moment he does what he once promised he would never do. He lets him go. 

**“A-R-C-H-E-RS!"**

**"RELEASEEEEEEE”**

**-**

The clouds luminosity gives way as a locust of arrowheads pierce through the fog in a flurried descent.

The cavalry's surroundings are dark and dingy but a lion’s ability to hear their prey from long distances guides his instinct. 

The low hiss of death approaching gives way to his command.

“Shields up, Shields up”

In an about face motion the Burgundians shields incase the cavalry in a clam like structure. 

The arrows chinking off their armor chime through the air like a siren’s song.

The cavalry moves as a unit fast approaching their fortune.

The lion is focused on the prize. 

If he goes down today then let it be known that he lived on both sides of the line. Once in love and now in hate. 

The interior of this clam like structure enacts a protected state where the lion is the pearl and his surroundings are merely there to serve in his survival. 

He loses focus.

He hears a pained groan come from his kinsman. 

The barrier is breaking.

The shell, cracking.

The groans are multiplying as specks of blood coat the air.

The unit is destined to give way now exposing the lion’s vulnerabilities.

**“ROBBE!”**

Jens, Robbe’s first lieutenant signals him. 

They are about to collide with destiny. 

The three lions charge forward embracing their lethal injection. The echoes of man’s last breathe drum around the lion. The air is filled with the stench of blood curdling screams. Iron swords thrashing around him. 

The lion is bareface and bloodied now. He disembarks his pewter horse in pursuit; looking for one thing and one thing only. All the lion can register is the squishing sounds underneath his footsteps. Signaling to him that he is drowning in a pool of blood.

And as destiny predisposed these two souls to meet. They finally collide, and the lion finds the bull.

-  
  


Sander knows he has one chance. The prince of swords is too skilled, too quick and Sander would never survive him in hand in hand combat.

He catches his hickory mane in the distance. He moves quickly and grabs a bow from his quiver. He positions himself and right as he is about to release. Robbe catches his gaze.

Robbe's chestnut orbs leave Sander breathless. They feel eviscerating but before he has too much time to hesitate Robbe begins to charge at him and Sander releases.

The arrow pierces Robbe's thigh but it seems to have little to no effect on him as within seconds he is swinging his sword towards Sander's face.

Sander takes a defensive step back and the blade comes within centimeters from his face.

Sander moves quickly and pulls out his sword from his back scabbard. The bull and the lion are now blade to blade, toe to toe.

"Listen to me" the bull pleads.

The lions snarls him down and spits out a fact.

“You took him from me”

"I didn't. **Listen** "

“You poisoned him. You costs me everything!”, hatred drips from the lions final accusation as he lunges forward. 

He is sloppy, years of perfected form forgotten as he throws cut after cut.

Sander is throwing block after block but he is tiring. He won't last long and before he knows it Robbe disarms him and they are nose to nose grappling for dominance. 

It scares him. Robbe's hatred lace gaze. Devoid of any love and warmth. Sander does not recognize the being standing in front of him. Sander takes one last attempt to solicit some type of reaction from Robbe.

"I know who you are" he shouts back at him. His tone begging Robbe to stop. 

Robbe just shakes his head back and forth. His bloodlust is swirling him into a psychosis. 

"It was always going to be me or you?" Robbe spits out. 

"There was only ever room for one of us"

"You took him from me" 

Sander notices Robbe gains a surge of adrenaline as he manages to push Sander down to the floor. Robbe's sword at Sander's throat. Sander is failing underneath Robbe trying to keep him at bay but time is moving at full speed and death is impending. It all happens so slow and yet so quick.

Sander manages to free an arm from in between him and Robbe. He knows he has mere seconds before Robbe's blade cuts into his throat and so Sander reaches for Robbe's dagger the one he always keeps strapped to his leg. He pulls it out of Robbe's holder and squeezes his eyes shut.

When his leafy green eyes see the world again Robbe's weight has loosen on top of him and he is grabbing at his throat attempting to stand. 

Blood is pouring out of him like a river.

His armor is painted the color of crimson.

He is looking down at Sander. His chestnut orbs are flickering between darker tones.

The sound of gargled blood starts to emanate from his chest. 

Sander doesn't even notice when he stood up off the floor. 

He runs to grab Robbe as he starts to lose balance and guides them both down to their knees. 

He holds Robbe rocking him lightly back and forth as Sander buries his nose in Robbe's hair taking his scent in one last time.

It feels like they lay there for hours but really its only a couple of minutes or so until Robbe stops moving and Sander knows his gone.

Sander places Robbe gently on the grass and stands up; the dagger still in his hand.

He walks towards his horse and mounts the creature and deserts his men on the battlefield.

He rides off with the dagger that will help forge the golden age of a tulip nation.

He sprints through the world in what feels like a zombie like state and when he regains consciousness he is standing in front of the crooked forest.

His body is bloodied, face blotchy and eyes blood shot.

The barked tentacles feel as if they are swaying. Calling to him, ready to devour his soul. 

He dismounts his horse and shuffles into the forest mouthing in a barely audible tone..... _"I am not crazy, I am not crazy"_.

His four legged dark haired friend is a loyalist and awaits for Sander at the edge of the forest. 

Night falls, and everything stills and the undercurrent of a once strong bull breaks and all that can be heard from deep inside the forest are the shrieks of a bull. 

Begging for god to take him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the war of the roses. Talk about making an entrance right?
> 
> Fun Facts: 
> 
> \- There is a Crooked Forest in Europe but its in Poland we moved it a few thousand miles for this fic
> 
> \- The National flower of the Netherlands is a tulip.
> 
> \- Robbe's character is the only original character thus far. Everyone else mentioned is based off a real person.
> 
> I know this cold open is highly uncomfortable and you're probably asking yourself is this fic for me? What you just read or saw you don't truly understand yet. I promise you that. 
> 
> If you don't believe me pay attention to the fic tags.... what's missing? Trust me when I say you will read this opening scene 50 times before this fic ends to truly understand what is happening and why its happening. 
> 
> Not all things are what they appear and remember how that old saying goes.... 
> 
> They are 3 sides to every story: your side (Sander), my side (Robbe), and the truth. Come on this journey with me and I promise we will find out the truth together.
> 
> **Update**: A reader recommended I be explicit about something concerning this story. So here it goes, I have never written or plan to write a major character death into any of my fics(hence why its not tagged as so). Relax, sit back & enjoy the ride. I promise everything will become clearer.


	3. Aquarius 1470

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> General period information:
> 
> The Dukes of Burgundy all lived at the Palais des Ducs de Bourgogne in modern day Dijon, France roughly about a 5hr drive from the Belgium border. Check it out: https://www.unjourunevie.fr/dijon-et-son-palais-des-ducs-de-bourgogne/.
> 
> The current Palais structures only date back to the late 17th century the older structures are now gone. However, they are maps available of the old Palais and the layout looked like this. https://www.meisterdrucke.fr/fine-art-prints/Jules-Hardouin-Mansart/215372/Projet-de-restauration-du-Palais-des-Ducs-de-Bourgogne-%C3%A0-Dijon,-1698.html
> 
> The front entrance of the old Palais featured a garden and this is where my garden maze would have stood and it would have a similar design to the maze featured here at Chateau de Villandry: https://www.experienceloire.com/chateau-villandry.htm.

It’s a bubble. For protection.

Life.

Embryonic. 

Cyclical.

They find themselves in a prelude the moment before the big bang before their universe opens itself up to an infinite number of possibilities. 

But wait, it’s still not time yet. The stage is only getting set. 

It’s still dark behind the curtain. A sliver of light is barely visible beyond the treeline.

But the darkness still surrounds him.

It’s watching, waiting. Life has only just begun his state emulating the many tadpoles of the past.

His inside of it.

Deep. In the darkness.

It’s peering. 

A husk of merigold appearing. Premediating another tap upon his chamber door.

His doubts, lack of commitment and fortitude on the edge of collapse destined for a life in nevermore.

The loud gallops of loves descent gathering haste but it’s not that time yet. He is waiting.

He is stuck in a labyrinth of his own doing without a guide, without a hope for absolution. 

For now, his kinsmen emerge from the edge of the forest in the direction of the city anticipating having to drag out the young lord from whatever squaller he had escaped to in the middle of night.

He had bolted as soon as he knew the possibility of a young tavern maid was available. Call it rebellion or a lack of decency but the young lord was never one to pass up a state of dissociation in the arms of another.

But the day is anew and a peculiar condensation fills the air at the hour of five. The journey into the bowels of the lower city is always one pebbled with a muddy terrain covered in the wastage of its impoverished inhabitants. This was no place to find a lord amongst the common folks who bore no legitimacy in their names but here is where he felt most comfortable amongst the everyman. 

He is not fully prepared yet to let love rapture his body and succumb to its senses. He is longing for immersion. Longing to be forested hidden amongst the foliage. For now his heart lies hollow entombed in the catacombs of his indifference. It beats but it's merely mechanics.

It’s pulsing but it's locked inside its encasement within the body of a chiseled angel. His light pewter hair splayed across dirty bed linens. His v-line abs expertly sculpted and exposed in the direction of the heavens. He lays there, bare and barren deep within slumber. His sun kissed youthful skin unmarred and silk like. His laugh lines displaying a slight crinkle. The outside world unaware that his dreams are stuck on a loop. Always the same, never changing. Always the raven staring back at him from atop his stone post waiting for a knock at his chamber door but it never comes because it’s not that time ye…..

He is shaken out of his lucid world violently as he unlocks his shamrock colored eyes and joins the living.

It takes a moment to adjust until he hears a familiar tone speak softly.

“It’s time now Sander”

“It’s time to wake up” 

-

The Duke of Clarence was not known for his kindness.  
  


His intelligence? Yes. 

His phenomenally disobedient nature? Absolutely.

But likeable? He was not. He reeked of self-entitlement, arrogance and an over developed sense of honour.

Some justified his nature as a symptom of being handed a dukedom at the tender age of 12 or how acutely aware he was of his de-facto status as heir to English throne during his brother Edward's rumored filled bachelor years. In his teens, he already displayed a hunger for power and prickly sensitivity about his status – which, was, as he well knew, fragile. 

His formidable beauty only helped strengthen his worse qualities. Yes, his veneer exuded angelic like features but he was pompous, pretentious, snooty and vainglorious. His immense wealth coupled with his quicksilver wit is half the reason why he found himself half drunk in a gentlemen's room in a lower city brothel. This was no place for a young lord of his stature but given that today was his last day of freedom he over indulged.

“My lord. It is time to wake.”

The young lord mustered out a groan filled reply.

“Don’t call me that Bernard. You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“Sander….” Bernard cleared his throat as he spoke the duke’s common name. A name not known to many. Only used by those who knew the Duke well. Who loved him. Who saw beyond his facade. Who attributed his quick wit to his mischievous personality. Always the trickster, always a bit childish at heart. That distasteful hubris he possessed though insufferable at times and deliberately obtuse housed unmoving loyalty for those he loved . Yes the duke could be arrogant and lacking in decorum but he was full of gumption. He was manipulative and cunning. A svengali of sorts with an uncanny gift to hypnotise the bourgeoisie. 

As Bernard watched the duke drag his naked body off the bed,worn out and despondent from the previous night’s activities still swaying a bit still from the remnants of ale he plowed into his body the night before when a servant boy quickly appears with a jug of water, a wash basin and some cloths for the duke to wash the sins of the prior night away. 

The duke splashes water over his face followed by a light tapping of the cloth. He takes another rag off the servant boy and immerses it entirely into the wash basin. He glides the wet rag down his arms and chest and then roughly scrubs the pits of his arms. He throws the drenched rag on the floor and grabs another repeating this actions but this time instead of washing his upper body he shoots Bernard a cheeky grin and begins scrubbing down and around his inner thighs and into all his personal cervices and bodily organs that are in need of cleansing. The duke was never unabashed by his physical appearance if anything he loved peddling it to the young men and women of the court it was his favourite sport.

“Am I making you blush old man? Come on nothing you haven’t seen before.” The Duke quibs.  
  


Bernard scoffs at the young lord as he walks around the room and collecting his under garments.

“My lord I have been looking at that bottom of yours since before you could walk. It’s nothing special”

The Duke chuckles and Bernard throws the Duke his garments to get dressed into. The Duke’s fashion is very much in line with the trends of the Yorkist court. A dark petite coat with the yorkist flower hand stitched in intricate vertical criss crosses announcing to all those around him that he is not from around here. That these lands are foreign to him, untraveled and with untapped potential. 

The Duke adjust his coat and dust off his trousers. 

“How do I look?”

Bernard signals one of the Lords kingsmen over who has been standing by the chamber entry.

“Can’t forget the most important part”

The Duke’s kinsmen pulls out the lord’s gold livery collar and adorns it onto his shoulder, and finally, here stands Sander or better yet the Duke of Clarence present and presentable.

“Now you're ready Sander.”

Bernard taps the Duke’s cheek in a reassuring manner and reminds him of the inevitable.

“Now it's time to meet your bride.”

-

It’s just a dab of hydration but Sander coats his fingers in the wash basin and runs them through his pewter locks. 

They found him quicker than usual he thinks to himself. Is this the beginning to his end?

The end of his freedom and choices. 

No more luxuries concerning who he’d get to share his body with. Court life was certainly capable of quenching his physical appetite but the handmaidens were always so dull and predictable as well as their male counterparts something the Duke entertained but always in the cover of night.

Not that it mattered much to him. The duke’s distribution of love and intimacy was simply a commodity. He had no say in who garnered it. He had no champion, no warrior to fight for his side. Someone who actually knew him and believed in him. It was his fault too. He had been impulsive so many times before sharing his deepest desires with servant girls, ladies of the court and late night gentlemen. Telling them how he was some helpless son of the yorkist flower. That his destiny had long been mapped out for him and that choices were never an option for the brother of a king. These conversations were never good for him as they always made it back to Edward. Edward had had enough of his brother’s constant need to be cradled and swooned. This desire for validation only left a trail of broken hearts behind Sander’s clearing. Handmaiden after handmaiden who would be taken in by Sander’s regalia and would succumb to their carnal instinct to only be forgotten once Sander’s intense need to over indulge himself on his lover’s emotional tank had been satisfied. But this time Sander said he was sure, he even told Edward. That he had found “the one” in the Earl of Warwick’s daughter Isabel but Edward would not hear of it. He made it clear that he did not trust Sander’s judgement. That his words and statements were not to be taken seriously and so to put a stop to it Edward betrothed the young lord to a child bride. One that would merely be his spouse via name and nothing more. Condemning Sander to a sentence of loneliness and lacking an heir. Leaving Sander to distract himself with the battles that his brother waged across the lands. 

The duke’s betrothal to the young Mary of Burgundy was mainly a ploy to gain a position on the battlefield. Edward was well aware that he had leveraged his brother's life for a stockpile of Burgundian Iron. The likelihood that Sander would ever make it down the aisle to wed his bride once she was of age was unlikely. He would need to survive his placement at the front line of the cavalry. Sander had accepted his fate the day the Yorkist fleet crossed the channel to meet the three lion Duke. Sander had no other recourse but to carry the weight of a disheartening albatross and seal his fate to futility. To add insult to injury this laborious charade of courting his lady seemed a rudimentary chore at best but what was Sander to do? He had no advocate, no camouflage, no swordsmen to take down his assassins, he was locked into a futureless prism in which he was merely a pawn to be moved around the board by his king. He had no agency he was completely stripped down. The only tool he had left to negotiate with was his body and a title that was slowly dying by the day as he lacked an heir to carry it forward and so in this early light of day as his skeletal structure moved in legato in a brothel chamber. He prepared himself to sign up for an agenda of discontent. Sander gathered his bearings and adjusted his face to adorn that shiny gloss that made his outward exterior radiate but for a split second before he got into character and walked onto life’s stage the elements of his interior thought to themselves…… “It doesn’t matter anyways it's not like I was going to find someone. At least no one who would have loved me.”

“Sander........It's time for you to fall in love?”

“What?” Sander spat out as his thoughts were interrupted. Taking a moment to adjust his mind.

“With your bride?” Bernard stated, his left eyebrow up and titled towards the sky.

Sander rolled his eyes at his long time confidant who knew very well he wasn’t in the mood for sarcasm. Bernard was well aware that Sander had no love lost with the Burgundians. He wasn’t much of a fan of his sister in-laws family and he found Charles to be quite insufferable. His loquacious nature to spout out trivial garbage about the importance of Burgundy as if it was equal to its English and French counterparts was abhorrent. Charles like his brother Edward pranced around his lands as if he was entitled to loins of mother earth. He spoke of the Burgundian army in delusional hyperboles and magnanimous adjectives. Burgundy’s surrounding cousins all knew the truth. The only reason the realm stood tall was because of Charles's tight grip on the manufacturing of Burgundian iron. The oath to the iron was inscribed in the heart of all Burgundian blacksmiths only they knew the secrets to temper the iron to its absolute most effective state. It was by no surprise that the best swordsmen came from the realm. 

It was tradition that when Burgundian males were born they were gifted child sized swords. It was expected that males learned to joust as they learned to walk. Sander knew all this because Charles would not shut up about the prince of swords during his brother’s wedding. The prince of swords was Charles' first born and heir to the realm he had not attended the wedding as he was engaged in military training. Sander had never met “the prince” but his brother Edward had spoken quite highly of his abilities. Nevertheless Sander had no desire to entertain a combatant brute that adorned the title of a prince when he was far from it. Another sign that the burgundians lived beyond their position.

“You taunt me old friend” Sander said in jest.

“I would never do that my lord” 

“You know very well love is not on offer today and yet I will be claimed either way”. The disappointment in Sander's voice alerted Bernard. He moved swiftly towards the young duke and lightly tapped off a bit of dust that had collected on his petticoat. It was a small gesture but tender and assuring.

“It will make your brother proud my lord”

Sander nodded and softly spoke.

“We should go. It’s time.” Sander professed.

Bernard nodded and began to follow the Duke out of the chamber. He gratuitously threw a few shillings next to the wash basin for the servant boy and headed out.  
  


-

Sander swivels the corner of a dark and dingy brothel and trots down a flight of stairs into the morning dew as he turns the door knob to welcome the cool kiss of condensation but he is abruptly knocked back into the doorway by a passerby in a long hooded cloak who looks back in annoyance and for a split second Sander notices beautifully formed hickory ringlets covering the hooded figure.

“Geez where’s a kingsmen when you need him”

“Excuse me, my lord?” Bernard enquires from behind.

“Nothing old man it’s just the people around here. They lack basic civility”

“Be nice my lord. These people will shortly become your responsibility”

Sander's face twist at the thought that at least for the near future he will be calling these surroundings his home.

The realm is so foreign to him. Their customs are so different from his own. At least he could look forward to one familiar face.

“Has the Marchioness Deruwe arrived at court?” Sander asks.

“Yes, she sent word my lord and she is waiting for you.”

Sander nods acknowledging the information and then Bernard interrupts his thoughts as they walk across the street towards Sander’s four legged friend. 

“I know you said it’s different now but are you sure you want to start things up with her again?”

Sander turns his cheek slightly back in the direction of his friends and reassures him that this time he’ll guard his heart. This time he’ll display fortitude and be made of stone.

“That’s over, okay? One hundred percent”

Sander reaches the lightning bolt colored horse. 

Mounts it and heads on his way towards to what he anticipates to be a life lived in the doldrums of preconceived notions. Unaware that within a few hours life he would supernova and the center of his universe would shift entirely. 

____

  
  


The Prince Of Swords felt like a rug had been pulled out from under him when he lost his balance and tumbled into The Duke.

He couldn’t afford to be seen vetting The Duke and his countrymen. However, word had spread across the realm of the Duke’s prior proclivities. The prince had no expectation that the Duke would be celibate during the prolong wait for his sister to blossom into womanhood but when a servant boy came to his door the night before claiming that the duke had been spotted and was held up in a lower city brothel he needed confirmation for himself.

The prince’s father Charles the Bold was well aware of the duplicitous nature of his daughter’s betrothed. The Duke was not an admirable man; the rumors of his conquest were well-known across the lands how he unraveled young handmaidens for sport. Offered them the world and left them longing for more. They were also whispers of other activities that the prince was afraid to look into in case the rumblings bore any truth. He wasn’t prepared for those possibilities. He was however prepared to report back to his father the kind of man they were allowing into their orbit. The Burgundians were always under threat. The French king was constantly in two minds about reclaiming back the lands that were part of the realm. The iron was the wand that was casting a protective spell around it’s people but secrecy and loyalty is what lined the underbelly of all Burgundy. Bestoying access to Burgundy’s most prized positions was a mistake that the prince and his family could not afford. The Duke was a snake cunning and slippery in more ways than one. The prince’s only hopes is that he would die on one of the many battlefields he rode his horse into. The prince found himself swiveling down narrow corridors filled with remnants of urine and vomit. The lower city was not a place a gentlemen of his caliber travelled much to and in all honesty not a place he saw himself frequenting after this early morning errand but after finding himself out of the labyrinth and at the edge of the city Robbe mounted his jet black colored horse and rode back to the palace. 

  
  


The prince despised the palace it was his home by birthright but he never seemed quite comfortable behind its door. As the metal iron semi circle gates came into view to enter the court yard the prince couldn’t help but feel the pull of dread embomb him. The palace though grande and home to past Duke’s of Burgundy always felt foreign to the prince. Like he didn’t really belong there, like he was yet to find a home in the double wide pearl fleshed stone staircases and gold treated crown moldings. The only place the prince found sanctuary was in the garden which happened to be located at the entry to the palace and though Robbe would never admit it, it served as a remedy for the prince as he tired of his days playing out this character known to the realm as The Prince of Swords. As the prince entered the palace grounds and lightly gallop pass the maze garden walls that stood high at 16ft tall they always gave the prince the sensation they were closing in on him but this never intimated him or scared him. He welcomed the sensation of blending into the greenery being covered up by the foliage it felt peaceful and protected. Like his own personal protective orb.

The prince dismounts his horse as he slowly arrives at an opening in between two garden walls. He walked into the entry way and enveloped himself into the juniper painted labyrinth. Into the maze where all things could get lost and stay hidden. Where the evergreen became the shield to his iron sword. He swivels the corner of a dark and dingy hedge and the morning merigold kisses his skin. His body instinctively hooks a right then a left and via the gift of muscle memory he finds himself in the middle of the labyrinth’s eco-sphere and as expected she is already there and waiting for him standing in front of a bed of rose quartz flowers.

“My lady” Robbe addresses her. 

“Are you coming or going?” She asks already knowing the answer.

“Coming”

She turns her gaze away from the periwinkle colored flowers looking back at her Prince, her protector, her knight and shining armor.

“What’s he like then?” She enquires some more.

“How’d you sneak out of the palace?”

“Does he seem kind?”

“Mary, it is not safe for you to be out here on your own at this hour?” The prince’s voice was adamant this time seeking clarity.

“I am not old enough to walk the gardens of my own home? And yet am old enough to be sold like cattle to a man who woke up in a whore house this morning.”

“MARY!!!” He shouted back sternly.

“Robbe, am I wrong?? Or do you prefer to lie to me like our father and pretend that I don’t know that I have been betrothed to a serpentine?”

“A man that lacks honor, loyalty and the ability to be discreet. A man, brother that you would never consider surrounding yourself with….. and yet here we are hours away from making him my future husband.”

Mary wasn’t wrong Robbe thought to himself. She deserved better than the Duke. He was a man that lived by his own arbitrary dogma. He clearly lacked any respect for the Burgundian house as he was neither discreet or sensible about his actions.

Though the prince was no fool and did not expect the Duke to live life so unsatisfied as he waited for Mary to become of age. He expected him to at least not flaunt his crusades around town before the court even met him. Mary was young a mere thirteen but she had an eye for spotting an interpoler; and that the duke was, he had little regard and respect for Robbe's father or his Yorkist name. He was a hand me down charity case at best. An indigent character that Edward was more than happy to ship off and make his families problem. If it wasn’t for his cousin The White Queen his father would have never even given The Duke any consideration for Mary’s hand in marriage. However, his father had made a decision to back Edward’s claim to the English throne and in so he needed an act of solidarity to go on display. The Prince’s father had reassured him that this was merely a demonstration of civility. It was very commonly known that the Duke was expected to find his death on a battlefield before the year’s end but until then his sister would need to keep up appearances.

“I won’t lie to you sister. He is not kind. He is not honorable. He will not respect our name and he is not loyal to our cause but I promise you that this is merely a charade. Over my dead body will I allow you to wed that man and become his wife.”

Mary looks hurt at her brother’s observations but also incredibly angry. Why must she pay the price for mens problems? Her brother stands in front of her with the flower bed in between them. Disappointment is infiltrating her body like a disease that was slowly arresting her heart. She feels the sudden urge to lunge herself forward and as she does she tramples chrysanthemum and carnations directly in her path. Her brother catches her by her wrist.

“Promise me? That man will never touch me, I will never love him and we will never marry?”

Robbe sees the color in his sister’s eyes flicker between darker tones as she speaks those words.

“You will never love him, he will never touch you and you will never wed. I promise you that.” Robbe comforts her.

Mary nods her head in agreement and softens her face.

“I think we should go now and get ready for his arrival.”

The siblings begin to head out the maze and as they leave its protection Mary makes one final request. 

“Can you stay by my side, as I am presented to him today?”

The prince gives his sister a half smile and states, “Of course I’ll stay by your side. Who knows maybe we’ll meet him and end up falling in love with him”.

There is a long pause and they stare at one another in silence until one of them finally barks out a chuckle. Sarcasm always an appreciated trait between the siblings.

“I doubt it”, Mary quips back in between giggles.

“Yes, maybe in another time and place” Robbe professes. 

-

It was not long after Mary and Robbe arrived back at the palace that the Duke’s arrival was announced. 

Robbe had changed out of his former cloaked camouflage and adorned a hickory colored petticoat. He brushed out his hair which he had let grow out over the winter into beautifully formed ringlets that framed his face and went past his shoulders.

Robbe walked out of his chamber to Mary’s quarters and knocked lightly. Mary signalled for him to enter and as Robbe did he saw Mary’s mistress adjusting intricate criss cross embellishments on her hair. 

“It’s time now my lady”, Mary politely waves off her mistress and gets up off her chair with a bit of urgency.

Robbe could tell she was nervous and antsy.

“Do I look okay?” 

“You look beautiful. Like a future duchess should.” Robbe tells her.

They exit Mary’s chamber and walk hooked armed towards the palace courtyard to await the Duke's arrival on the rotunda. 

The day had suddenly become covered in downpour but that's when he heard it. The sound recognizable, a sound that had comforted him so many times before. The sounds of hoofs pounding out soddy terrain from the morning wet spells getting closer to him and as they do Robbe feels a shiver run down his spine. 

“Are you cold?” Mary asks as she feels him slightly shake.

But before Robbe can answer he begins to get dizzy. His surroundings taking on a miasmic makeup; thick and unwelcoming. His body reacting to some earthling oddity. He loses focus and a sense of time and before he knows it the Duke’s carriage is pulling into the palace courtyard.

Mary tugs on his shoulder roughly to get him to snap out of it. He does. The rains suddenly speeds up and heightens in volume. All Robbe can hear is the sound of water rushing. It’s like he is experiencing an out of body experience and though he sees the Duke rush up the steps to get under the cover of the rotunda and greet his family it’s like he is miles away. He feels like he is drowning being held underwater waiting for the count of three to come up for air. 

He can sees the Duke going down the line greeting his father and mother and then Mary lets go of his arm and steps forward in front of him. Robbe records her curtsy from the corner of his eyes. As the Duke walks closer to Robbe he begins to move slowly and with caution. The Duke stands right in front of him towering over his small frame.  
  


"The Prince of Swords. Its nice to make your acquaintance" 

Sander holds out his hand to Robbe and as soon as Robbe goes to shake it they catch one another's gaze and their presence is debilitating.

Like they are coming up for air.

Robbe and Sander look into each other’s eyes longer than expected they don’t know it yet but an amalgamation of sorts is happening. The hydraulics of some pre-ordained alchemy is in full churn and unbeknownst to their onlookers this is the very moment that would mark the beginning of the end for the Burgundian state. Their love story would bring the realm to its knees. Together they would become unstoppable unleashing a hellscape towards any opposition. They would bleed for each other, betray their houses for one another, and ultimately kill for each other.

They would love.

Touch.

And marry.

The only thing that would come to separate them is death. 

  
  
  
  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for taking so long to update.
> 
> I hope you like the direction this fic is going in because we have some long ways to go. The war of the roses was not won in one day.
> 
> Also Mary is a wtfock character I just haven't told you who it is on purpose. Also the first major easter egg has been shown now. Let me know if you find it!!
> 
> If you wanna chat come visit me on my tumblr @lucidpantone


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